


You make me happy when skies are grey

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Bromance, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, poor Ole being a manager to a bunch of clowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-21 14:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18704608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: Gary Neville was furious with the players - for not giving their all, lacking professionalism and disgracing the badge.Most of all, he was furious with them for upsetting Ole.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know anymore. This was inspired by Neville's interview with Ole after the game with PSG and overall the whole love for Ole "thing". (I love him too).  
> I have no idea how sport pundits work and where managers go before giving press conferences etc.  
> Sorry for any possible mistakes in English.  
> And have fun x

Gary has thought he'd seen everything that day; though he still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that United have been beaten by Everton with such a humiliating score. _That's football for you, huh_? This happens sometimes, it's a combination of bad luck and a few moments of lack of concentration, a few missteps - 

Of course, that kind of defeat would be excusable, but not the disgraceful lack of will and enthusiasm and dignity that the players showed on the pitch. Gary's blood was boiling from just thinking about the disrespect the players have shown to the whole club and their fans in the past few days, and the constant need to talk about it live in front of a camera was not helping his frustration much. 

 He had a cup of extremely bitter coffee in a faint hope to calm himself a bit and then planned to just wait in silence and hopefully survive until the end of the press conference to catch up with Ole since he had the stabbing feeling in his gut that maybe this was the right time to show his full support to an old friend. 

In the meantime he planned to just sort of hang around, maybe talk to some of his colleagues or read what's been written about the match on social media so far. For a quieter place, he chose to go to the bathroom on the second floor where hardly anyone would be now when all the hustle and bustle was happening downstairs. 

He surely didn't expect to run into Ole himself there.

 "Oh - " he gasped the moment he saw Solskjaer just coming out of the stall, feeling a bit embarrassed since he shouldn't be here - _but, oh well, neither should Ole, right?_

"Oh God," Ole responded in an equally shocked manner without even thinking.

That was when it all just hit Gary - yes, of course, Ole shouldn't be here - but he is, hiding away from all the people who would otherwise surround him and choke him withing them with their neverending questions and demands. _What went wrong? What the team could have done better? What's the matter? What are you gonna do about it? What's your opinion on the result? How do you see it? How are the players? What does this game tell about the club?_

 Ole stopped for a second or two in the doors of the stall, watching Gary cautiously, though there was not much in his gaze. His baby blue eyes just seemed to be too shiny.

"What a game, huh?" A forced smile crept on Ole's lips as he finally made up his mind and decided to make his way towards the basin. 

"That's why you're here?"

Ole looked at him fearfully as if he's just been exposed. "No," he said firmly. There still was something in his voice - something strange and unknown that Gary has rarely ever seen within managers.

"So why?" he asked, leaning against the wash-basin. Ole came next to him, making short, unsure steps.

"It's kind of hard now - "

He blinked fast, looking somewhere at the ground and then quickly up again, even tilting his head back a little as if to - yes, _as if to get the tears back in and swallow them_.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes - yes, it's fine," Ole said in a muffled voice. Yet he blinked again a couple of times, shook his head and rubbed his eyes, furrowing his forehead in a manner that was more than telling.

Gary could feel his heart shatter in pieces. He's never seen any manager _this_ obviously hurt and vulnerable; he's seen them angry, arrogant, charming and disappointed, blaming players and referees, in more honest cases even blaming themselves with some real inner pain, but he's never seen a manager actually choking on his own tears. And it wasn't _just some_ manager - it was Ole, for God's sake, the same Ole who used to play with him in one team and who's been with him through some of the most memorable moments of his professional life.

The same Ole who had tears of happiness in his eyes after his team had beaten PSG just over a month ago.

The same Ole whom he knew to be the most likable and humble person to ever manage a club.

 _That_ hurt most of all.

"I'm so sorry for this game," he mumbled apologetically, placing a hand on Ole's shoulder.

The manager yanked away immediately but not aggressively. "It's not your fault, Gary."

"It's not your fault either."

 "Then whose fault is it?" Ole asked and for the first time, his eyes, bluer than usual, actually met Neville's.

Gary shrugged, trying again to place a comforting hand on Ole's shoulder. "The players really showed a lack of attitude - "

"Everyone keeps saying that but I don't believe it's just that," Ole said firmly, this time letting Gary's hand rest where it was. "This club is - this club is not what it used to be. And I don't mean just the players, you know. Yes, they need more professionalism and spirit but - " He stopped himself in the middle of the sentence, looking at Gary with dead seriousness in his eyes. "This is all off the record, right?" he asked almost shyly.

"Of course," Neville nodded, squeezing his shoulder in a support of these words. 

 "I just don't think I'm the right man for this job."

"What are you talking about?" Gary's voice went high-pitched, almost as it did when he got into a heated debate on the TV. "Who's the right man if not you?"

Ole shook his head, looking at the ground again, and his avoidance made Gary realize just how much his eyes always revealed about his mood and emotions; he's known Ole for more than a long time but just now, he finally understood how the Norwegian's eyes always betrayed him, no matter how much he was smiling.

 " _I don't know, Gary_."

"What even makes you think so? You're the legend of this club, who's more suitable than you?"

"I'm not the messiah everyone's been praying for." He swallowed, reaching for the water tap to wash his hands which appeared more as a gesture of anxiety than need. "I have too much sentiment for this club, too many memories and emotions and - "

"And that's good!" By this moment, Gary wasn't just squeezing his shoulder; he was literally shaking it as if to get some sense into his old teammate. "It's not - That's not a flaw! You care about this club more than anyone else could! You know what having this badge on your chest means, you've been there, you know the fans, you're no stranger to all this - you know this whole spirit and atmosphere, you've been here in the best years with the Boss and that's something these young players need to get in touch with!"

He looked in the mirror, exhaling shakily after his short rant, and his gaze met Ole's. The reflection in the mirror looked ridiculous - a TV pundit shaking his former team's manager shoulders urgently, saying the same lines he could have said live on TV. And yet, this pundit and manager once used to be teammates, play together, travel across the world and celebrate, fight, cry, win and lose and draw and share every second of each other's life. 

Gary released Ole of his urgent grasp, smiling apologetically, hoping that Ole would understand this outburst of emotions. In a form of apology, he quickly grabbed some of the paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to Solskjaer, whose lips finally rose into a soft half-smile.

"Thank you."

"Come here."

He knew there was possibly no way to ease the pain of seeing the team lose this terribly tonight but he could at least make sure Ole knew he was not alone, no matter how different their positions were now.

He pulled Ole closer demandingly, not letting him even properly dry his hands, and embraced him, wrapping his hands around the manager's back. "I will always support you, alright?" he mumbled, getting his face lost somewhere in the black-and-red jacket.

"Thank you," Ole said again, but this time in a much quieter voice that could hardly cover the emotions behind those words.

"If you need a shoulder to cry on - "

"It's not that bad," Ole assured him without even letting him finish the sentence. _If you need a shoulder to cry on, I will always be here for you_.

"Really? And what were you doing here before I came?"

Ole let out short bubbling laughter. "That's a managerial secret."

"I won't tell anyone."

This time, Ole said nothing and just wrapped his hands around Gary's back with almost relieved gratitude. He didn't need to say anything. Gary understood what this gesture meant and in an equally wordless response, he rubbed Ole's shoulders comfortingly. 

Neither of them dared to speak, so they stood in a silent embrace for many seconds, maybe even a minute, and with every other passing moment, Gary could feel more and more relaxed, as if this was a long-expected moment of peace of mind. He buried his nose further into the soft material of Ole's jacket and inhaled the scent while still rubbing small circles on Ole's shoulders and upper back.

"I need to go to the press conference," Ole whispered after what felt like an eternity. But his voice didn't sound much resolute.

"Oh, I see." Gary took a step back, returning to the real world and present moment in his mind that was a mess by now. "You have your duties now..."

"I can catch up with you later."

Gary blinked, not expecting this kind of honest response.

"If you want to?" Ole quickly added, throwing the used paper towels in the bin.

"Yeah, sure, that would be nice." He almost stuttered at the answer, not knowing why.

"Okay then. See you later."

The pat on the shoulder that Ole gave him as he walked to the door was a bit awkward, there was no doubt about _that_ ; but Gary managed to lock eyes with him for a brief second and in the eyes, there was a happy glow.

And Ole's eyes never lied.


	2. Chapter 2

Ole's promise of 'catching up with him later' actually meant "Just make yourself busy for the next two hours" but Gary couldn't bring himself to actually minding that. He knew that all the reports and interviews were much needed now. He could be fuming all he wanted over the loss but it was still Solskjaer who was the manager of Man United. He was the right person to give answers. Gary actually tuned in on the press conference on his phone and had to smile sadly when he realized that all Ole has said was practically the same stuff he was ranting about _before_. _Lack of passion, lack of devotion - lack of willingness to represent the club_. Yet Ole was still smiling throughout the press conference.

Neville has always admired that optimistic nature of his. Whoever said that Scandinavian people are cold-hearted and emotionless has surely never seen Ole Gunnar in an ecstatic state after scoring a goal - nor after witnessing his players score a goal for the club. _Norwegian sunshine_ was probably the most fitting name for what Ole brought to the club - the sun of the north that could be mild and not really overwhelming but still brought some happiness and hope into the lives of everyone who supported this club.

 _I'm sorry it took so long_ , Ole's message read as if Gary could blame him for taking his time explaining and addressing everything.

When they finally met on the parking lot, Ole was still smiling, but that smile looked worn out and tired most of all.

"I'm sorry," he said again, almost yawning. Gary smirked, doubting he could ever want Ole to apologize for anything - yet Solskjaer always apologized, that was his nature. Anything that went wrong - Ole apologized for that, no matter how much he had nothing to do with it.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Neville assured him. Ole just smiled, not paying him any attention anymore. 

"This is just like old times," he laughed, pointing at his car. "Mine or yours?"

"Mine. I'll drive." Gary didn't even hesitate. He knew Ole was tired, and he wanted to help him in any way possible. "I don't really remember any time we would go out like this," he said as he unlocked his car with the remote key. "I mean, back in the days - when we were both playing."

Ole laughed, getting into the passenger's seat. "You were always hanging around David."

"Ha, I know."

"Good old times."

"Yeah."

They both laughed, then letting an awkward silence fall on the whole car. 

Gary cleared his throat feeling unusually uncomfortable at his own seat now. What was this about? He's been friends with Ole for years now, why should he feel this weird around him?

"How did the press conference go?" he asked as soon as he started the car, thankful for such an easy choice of the subject of conversation.

"Not well."

"Really?" he said, not even half surprised.

"Ah, you know - it looks fine but... It's kind of hard to find the right words to say in a moment like this... It's hard to lie, especially when it's in a foreign language."

 "You speak like a native Mancunian."

"It's difficult to maintain a happy, positive face while talking about losing to Everton."

" _Ole smiles through the pain_ ," Gary smirked, citing a line he's seen somewhere on the Internet. He didn't even have to look at Ole to know he probably just smiles shyly, shaking his head as if to say _that's ridiculous - but not far from the truth_.

 He started the car, fastening his seatbelt with one hand in the process. "I thought we could stop somewhere for dinner."

"I'm afraid I shouldn't show my face around the city for approximately...the next two or three days."

"You've always had this magical ability to go unnoticed, especially in the opposite team's box."

This time, Ole laughed out loud; it was a relieved kind of laughter that warmed Gary's heart and let him know, that no matter how little he can actually do for Ole now, Ole is thankful for _that_. Even making him laugh over stupid jokes was a good idea and exactly the kind of help he needed.

 "No, I'm serious, Gary. I can't show up in a pub now - "

"Not a pub - a nice, classy restaurant. Nobody would dare to bother you there."

"It's still too early for dinner anyway - "

"Will you _at least_ let me do you _one_ favor, for God's sake?"

Ole raised his hands in a silent apology. "But I will only have a coffee," he still protested.

Neville carefully maneuvred the car around the round curb. "You can save this humble and modest tone for the press."

"You _kind of_ are the press now as well, Gary."

"Nah, not _now_. Now I'm just Gary Neville, your personal driver." He quickly glanced over at Ole, trying not to think too much about the strange duality of the situation.

A commentator and a manager. 

A former player and a former player.

A friend and...a friend?

He sure wouldn't want to take Mourinho out for a dinner or a coffee or whatever the hell José drank; nor Moyes, nor van Gaal; naturally, they were managers, personalities, somewhat untouchable for him as a pundit, while Ole was just... _Ole_.

He simply couldn't look at him with the same kind of estranged emotionless respect he would have for any other manager of United.

"How does it feel," he started, already laughing at his own words, "when someone else is at the wheel for a while?"

Ole actually snorted, amused once again but the terrible pun and the fact that it didn't fail to make him smile again. "I have to say it's quite relaxing."

 

 

They didn't stop talking during the ride and they didn't stop talking in the restaurant either. The unfamiliar anxiety Gary had felt as he got into the car disappeared as soon as he realized there was actually so much to talk about; not just today's match, Lukaku's form, Pogba's attitude, and the Alexis Sánchez problem.

It actually felt more normal, talking to Ole about other things outside of his managerial career.

It actually felt nice.

"Do you think he knows who you are?" Gary asked playfully just as they ordered their drinks and the waiter left.

Ole shrugged, humble as always. "Good for me if he doesn't. Don't want him to spit in my coffee."

Neville smirked, just with half of his lips. "You know nobody's angry at you."

Ole looked at him doubtfully. "Even Roy - ?"

"No, well, definitely not _at you_."

"It's still strange where we all ended up, isn't it? Can you imagine today's players in twenty years time - being like us now?"

 "No, not really. We're old school and times are changing. Half of them will become full-time social media personalities."

Solskjaer gave him a soft yet still persuasive glance. _Gary. Not this again_ - 

 "Sorry," Neville snapped before Ole actually got to say anything. "I know you'll defend them and all that - "

"That's my job. But I love them."

Gary had to smile upon seeing the light in Ole's eyes; he loved that job and he loved this club and anyone could see that passion, he had it written all over his face. And he himself loved seeing him like that, in fact, he loved seeing him this often again, now, after all those years. They have never been very close friends, just regular mates, playing together, having some fun and living a very similar life but as time went by and their ways parted, they drifted apart naturally. Occasional messages and birthday or Christmas wishes became a kept tradition, and they saw each other a couple of times, along with other lads from their old team but it always reminded Gary of an awkward high school reunion where one realized that all their friends have changed way too much for their likings and there's really not much to talk about anymore since everyone has different views and experiences and opinions and status now. It was always nice to remember _their era_ but Gary found out he gets easily bored when all the conversation revolves around is only remembering; he sure didn't want to feel like an old man ranting about _the good old days_. With Ole, he realized, he could talk about a bit of everything, the club, the past, the present, the families, the job and the prospects for the future - and it never felt off.

 "You're too kind to them."

"And you're too kind to me," Ole said back, smiling. _Well, what are you gonna do about that_?

"Well - " Gary immediately took a breath to answer that, to say what was on his mind, point out the difference between him talking to Ole with a certain kind of sentiment and Ole not being hard enough on the players - but the waiter came back with their orders and Gary's need to explain and analyze had to give way to a calm and peaceful moment as the waited slowly and carefully placed down all the cups and glasses. In the end, Gary persuaded Ole to have not only a cup of coffee but also a glass of white wine ( _because he earned it_ ) and a sandwich ( _because he earned it_ ) with salmon ( _because that was the Norwegian way, right_?); his own order was way simpler, just tea and a cheese sandwich. He looked over at Ole, who was just thanking the waiter. The words he was about to say just a few seconds ago disappeared from his mind, he opened his mouth again to say something but no sound would come out. He seemed to be struck by everything at once in that short moment - Ole's facial structure, his bright blue eyes, the kind look he gave to the waiter, his cute "Thank you" with which he also always ended his press conferences - _how could one man be so good, so nice, so_... _pure_?

He said many times, at many occasions during the past few months, that he loved Ole Gunnar _to bits_ , and he always meant it from the bottom of his heart - but this felt different, like an overwhelming realization, like a wave of warmth spreading all over his body, starting from the heart whose beat felt different now.

"You wanted to say something?" 

"No - not at all."

 

 

He still thought of _what exactly_ has happened there at the table when they asked for the bill.

"Let me pay this one for you - "

"No, Gary - I'm really glad you took me here but I can't ask for any more favors."

"Come on - "

Ole said nothing, he just silently pulled a note out of his valet and placed it on the bill; giving Gary a little teasing smile.

_What are you gonna do about that, Neville?_

"Still so stubborn, I see," Gary muttered, shrugging. "I'm paying next time."

 When the waiter came buck, Ole smiled at him again just like before. "Thank you. Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir."

It made Gary's heart - _flutter?_

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off this strange feeling. He should pull himself together.

"We should go out like this more often," Ole said as they walked out of the restaurant, both getting their jackets zipped up. "It feels really good, you know? I don't really go out that much anymore - "

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you do."

"Cheers. I'm sorry, I probably should have invited you over and all that just as I moved back to Manchester."

"That's fine, I know you were busy."

Ole smiled, nodding. "But still - we should hang out more often. I don't know why, but it makes me feel younger."

"That's projecting. I'm younger than you, so that's why," Gary joked, pressing the key fob button to unlock his car.

 It was still easy to just joke around, laugh and not look Ole in the eyes, do millions of other things and try to keep his mind and hands occupied by anything else - opening the door, closing the door, waiting for Ole to buckle up, starting the car, talking about how he bought it two years ago for a very reasonable price - 

Something has changed though. It didn't feel the same as when they were riding to the restaurant; _he_ didn't feel the same. 

 His mind still kept on running, mostly running away from the one thought that scared him; yet somehow he was still able to keep on talking - about the traffic, the weather, the next game -

He realized Ole has been only listening now, answering only with a quiet laugh or a hardly noticeable "yeah" all the time

He didn't dare to look at him to try and read in between the lines; instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the road and his speech flowing - _this junction is always jammed_ , _yeah, that's Manchester for you, I bet you didn't see this in Molde, right? Right._

By the time they arrived at Ole's house, there was a silence in the car; and it made Gary's already tightened chest even more at unease.

"So," he started, trying to swallow that lump in his throat. He couldn’t tame his fingers as they started tapping on the wheel. “I guess we’ll see each other next week.”

"Thanks for the ride." Ole unfastened his seatbelt. “Next time you’re paying and I’m driving, deal?”

“Deal,” Gary nodded, smiling.

Once again, there was an awkward silence in the car, this time, it was actually Solskjaer who appeared to have troubles dealing with it.

“You know – you really helped me a lot today,” he started, unconsciously playing with his sleeve in a nervous manner. “And I really appreciate it. Just so you know – ”

Gary nodded, and with the intention to show his undying support, he placed his hand on Ole’s knee, squeezing it firmly. As soon as he did that, he realized how inappropriate it might seem, sure they were old friends, but they also had a professional relationship now, and the line shouldn’t be crossed –

He squeezed the knee under his palm again, this time, to express his apology for the previous touch with yet more touching; it didn’t make sense but neither would his words.

“Gary – “

Something inside him completely collapsed; some kind of a dam or gate that was keeping his emotions tamed so far; and his other hand found its way to the back of Ole’s neck and his curly hair, entangling the fingers in it.

Ole gasped, watching him cautiously, not even trying to pull away.

He was lost for words.

_What are you gonna do about it, Neville?_

“I’m happy for you that you got the job,” he started, holding Ole’s head with certain desperation over what he was just doing. “And I know you’re the right man for it. I’m not saying it because we’re old friends – I’m saying it because I genuinely believe it’s true.”

Ole’s blue eyes scanned him for a moment, and then he looked down, puzzled, never expecting such tender affection from Gary. The grip of his neck tightened, and he could feel as if Gary was pulling him closer – and there were Gary’s eyes, wide and emotional, and his face, so unexpectedly close to his own.

“I said it and I will say it again – I love you to bits, Ole.”

The kiss happens in a split second, a needy kind of one;  Gary’s fingers dig in Ole’s scalp and Ole tastes of the black coffee he drank before, and it doesn’t take long at all.

It’s hard to believe it has actually happened once Gary backs off, exhaling.

Ole doesn’t look at him, he watches his knees – and Gary’s hand on the right one.

 _"_ I'll pick you up tomorrow, alright?" Gary asks in a hurry, almost as if he wanted this whole situation to end all of sudden, and bury all the memories somewhere deep inside.

"Wait, wait, Gary." Ole touched his hand, pleading for attention. "We're so old for this."

 "Is that - is that all you have to say?"

Gary's not even sure how he feels after Ole's words. They didn't hurt him, yet they didn't feel very positive either - there's nothing vicious nor nasty about them and it still leaves him disappointed, _in the least_.

  _And horrified, actually_ , he thinks as seconds pass by.

 " _No_."

It's Ole who grabs his head in his hands now to bring him closer, it's Ole who smiles and exhales and entangles his fingers in Neville's hair, and Ole who locks their lips together again, with a passion Gary wouldn't even expect from him. 

" _Yes_ ," Ole corrects himself, gasping for some air.

 They might be sitting in Gary's car in a complete dark, holding onto each other for dear life as if they were the last living souls - _but it doesn't feel weird at all_.

Ole's touch, his fingers running through Gary's hair, his lips smiling into the kiss - _it's not unnatural_.

Gary's concerned look, his hand mechanically rubbing the older man's knee and up to his thigh - _it feels right_.

"So tomorrow at nine?" Gary asks, eyes closed in complete submission to whatever his fate might be.

"Nine," Ole agrees, bringing their foreheads together.

Their clasped hands, shared breath, and aligned heartbeat tell Gary he's not leaving anytime soon.


End file.
